


On the Shore of the Wide World: Coda

by hidingupatreeorsomething



Series: On the Shore of the Wide World Series [2]
Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-08 08:36:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12250818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidingupatreeorsomething/pseuds/hidingupatreeorsomething
Summary: An optional extension to On the Shore of the Wide World... I thought I was really, truly done when I got to the final chapter, with Max's visit. Was really happy with the way it finished. But then this entire episode popped into my head, almost fully formed. I feel like some people will like it, some might not, and although I love it as a piece of writing in its own right, I also loved the way 'Shore' ended and didn't want to extend it directly.So I thought I'd do it as a small, linked, three chapter stand-alone work. If you like it, add it to the Shore storyline in your head, if you don't, feel free to discard it!Updated! Chapter 3 - Carrie and Quinn finally come face to face. Final chapter. Bring tissues.AND! An unexpected Chapter 4 - I'm such a softie, turned out I couldn't cope with quite how bleak the ending was, so there's a coda to my coda... this could go on forever, but I *think* this is the end!





	1. Chapter 1

_Ten months later._

_Max’s mobile rings._

_Jeanne wakes before him, reaches over him to grab the phone while he’s still blundering to wakefulness, feeling for his glasses. She swears under her breath in French, drops the phone on his chest and slumps back onto the pillow.  
_

JEANNE - It’s your other girlfriend.

_He rolls over to her as he lifts the phone to his face, squints at the screen. Carrie. He switches it off. She can wait. He throws the phone across the room and leans over to kiss Jeanne._

_\---_

_Several hours later._

_Jeanne, dressing, picks his phone up from the floor._

JEANNE - You should probably call her back.

_She throws the phone to him. He switches it on. Seven missed calls. Jesus. Dials.  
_

MAX - Carrie. What is it?

CARRIE - Max, can you come over?

MAX - What is it? Can’t you just tell me?

CARRIE - I need you to look at something. I need you to tell me if I’m going mad or not. I wouldn’t ask unless I really needed you.

_He sighs.  
_

\---

MAX - I’m sorry. She sounds like she’s manic. If she needs hospitalising again... At least she asked me – she knows the wheels are coming off. That’s progress, I guess.

JEANNE - It’s OK. You don’t have to apologise. She’s your friend. I have stuff to do. Call me when you’re done.

MAX - Are you mad?

JEANNE - No. It’s nice that you care for your friends.

_She kisses him. They separate, and he grabs his coat.  
_

\---

_He rings the doorbell._

_She’s there almost instantly, has been pacing the hall, flings the door open.  
_

CARRIE - Where have you been?

MAX - Carrie, have you taken your meds?

CARRIE - YES. I have. It’s not that.

MAX - Because you called me SEVEN times this morning. You know that’s what you do when you’re manic, right?

CARRIE - It’s not that. I need you to look at something.

_She marches into the kitchen, leans over the kitchen table, flips open her laptop. Her hands are shaking, jaw trembling. Max is already thinking through the best strategies for getting her to a doctor. She clicks quickly through a couple of screens. The computer freezes for a moment and she pounds her fist into the table._

GODDAMIT.

_Clicks._

Look.

_She jabs her finger at the screen._

_It’s a news website. A report on the New Year’s Day Mummers Parade in Philadelphia. Photograph of one of the huge bands - technicolour costumes, banners and streamers - obviously chosen by the picture desk for the spectacle. Behind, there’s a huge crowd, a wall of people. Carrie’s finger, just to the right of center, is pointing at one small face among them. Not quite in focus, but nonetheless unmistakeable to them both. It’s Quinn._

It’s him. Isn’t it?

 _She looks up at Max. He’s a split-second too slow to hide his true reaction, which is_ “Oh, fuck”, _but nonetheless erases it from his face and brazens it out, shakes his head._

MAX - Carrie. It’s not. You know it can’t be. He’s dead. I  _know_  you want to believe otherwise, but he’s gone.

I can see what you mean. It looks a bit like him.

CARRIE - Max…

MAX - But he’s dead. He died. People see faces in the crowd all the time when they’re missing someone. It’s a thing. Wanting it to be him doesn’t make it him.

_But Carrie caught that split second._

CARRIE - Max, it’s him. I know it is. You know it is. What do you know? Tell me.

MAX - Carrie, you need to get your meds reviewed. I’m sorry. I know it’s not the answer you wanted, but you asked me here to give you my honest opinion. And my opinion is that you’re manic. And grieving. That’s it. This total stranger happens to look a bit like Quinn. It hurts. But he’s still dead. Just like he was yesterday, and the day before, and will be tomorrow, and the day after.

_She purses her lips. So angry Max is holding out on her, but the anger is chased by a euphoria trickling into the back of her mind._

 

\---

 

_She pulls in every favor she’s ever been owed. Milks them dry. But every time she gets the same answer back: Peter Quinn is dead. She contacts the picture desk of the news website, orders and pays for high-res copies of every single image their photographers took of the parade, which turns out to be hundreds of them, takes a whole evening to download to the external hard drive she bought specially for the purpose. She finds a photo of Quinn online – his CIA file headshot, the one that was in all the papers, and runs the parade photos through facial recognition software. No results. The original photo, the one she’s convinced is Quinn, is too blurred, the software can’t analyse it. She enlarges the picture to a life-size face, pins it to the wall in her tiny room at the top of the stairs. It’s no clearer for being bigger – just an enlarged blur. Pins Quinn’s CIA photo next to it. Stares at them for hours. Weeks go by and still she stares._

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Julia walks back in the house with the mail. Slings the junk on the counter. Tosses a hand-written envelope to Quinn._

JULIA - Intriguing.

_He frowns. Unexpected hand-written letters are never good news when you’re a man in hiding, with no friends. Opens it._

Quinn,

Thought I’d spare you another doorstep visit. But I thought you’d want to know. Carrie thinks she saw your picture online. At the Mummers Parade. I told her she was imagining it, but you know Carrie. She’s got the bit between her teeth. She hasn’t mentioned it again, which means she’s spending every waking hour working out how to find you and not telling me. Not the news you want to hear, but I thought you’d prefer to know.

Hope all is still good with you – you’re missed here, and not just by Carrie.

Max

\---

_5am. Julia wakes. The bed next to her is empty. Reaches across. Not even warm. She gets up, walks into the living room. Quinn is sat on a hard chair, pulled up to the window, staring out at the creeping dawn._

JULIA - You OK?

_He jumps, was deep in thought._

QUINN - I just… needed the bathroom.

_They both know that’s not true. She pulls up a chair, sits facing him._

JULIA - You should probably talk to me about it. Because by my reckoning you haven’t slept for three nights now, and that’s pretty much perfect conditions for you to have a seizure. Nobody wants that.

_She sits back and waits. She's become good at waiting. It’s not just his slower cognition – it’s the fact he finds openness so difficult, yet – for the first time in his life – is trying to get to grips with it. A long silence as he arranges his thoughts. So long that she eventually offers an opening of her own._

Do you wanna see her?

QUINN - No. No. I don’t. But what if… She could turn up here. I can’t… She can’t come here. _Poison_ this…

_He waves his hand around him, indicates their home._

JULIA - Poison? That’s pretty strong.

_He looks at her. Shrugs. That’s how he feels._

I thought you guys were close?

QUINN - We were. I don’t… we were. But she was… she always pulled me back in. Every single time I tried to leave the CIA, she called me and begged me back. She… _had_ me. I mean… Christ, I spent years trying to leave, Jule – _years_. And I only got out when she finally thought I was dead, what does that tell you?

JULIA - But you’re not the man you were. You’re stronger. She pulled you back before because you had nothing else.

_She touches her heavily-pregnant belly._

Now you have a family. A home. A life worth living. You are not the man she used to know, you have something that makes it worth resisting.

_He chews on this thumbnail. No answer._

Do you feel guilty? For putting her through your death?

_He shrugs._

QUINN - Maybe.

JULIA - Because if I’ve got it right, you two are pretty much quits right now.

She woke you from a coma, nearly killed you, and lied to you about it. You let her think you were dead so you could escape to a better life without her. I don’t know which one of those really has the moral high ground, because they’re both pretty fucked up, both pretty symbolic of the screwed up life you used to lead.

Maybe this is a chance to lose the last of your shadows. Come clean with her. Tell her you’re alive, but you’re not hers any more. You’re not _theirs_ any more. Walk away, no more secrets, then come back here and live the life you’ve _chosen_ to lead.

If you don’t want her to come here, go see her.

_He exhales. Buries his face in his hand. Julia has come to the same conclusion in two short minutes that he’s been resisting for the past three nights._


	3. Chapter 3

_He sits in the car. Slumped back in the driver's seat. Peaked cap pulled down low over his face. Feels just like old times. If it wasn’t for what he was about to walk into, he’d be quite enjoying himself.  
_

_At 3.47pm they arrive and he misses a breath. Franny, taller, her face leaner, looking more like her father than ever. Carrie, unchanged, marching briskly along, bag bouncing across her body, hurrying Franny up the steps. They disappear into the house. He waits._

_It grows dark. The light goes on in Franny’s bedroom. On the wall opposite the window, he sees a framed picture of Peter Rabbit. Misses a breath again. Two. Remembers sitting on Franny’s bed. Remembers sitting against the wall in the basement, closed down, threat on every side, swimming in darkness as Carrie spoke to him through the window. Suddenly can’t catch his breath at all, feels like his vision is giving way to black smudges, working their way in from the edge of the world towards him, obliterating everything. Starts the engine and speeds away. Can’t go into that house. It’ll have to happen somewhere else. No bad thing, he’s pretty sure there’ll be shouting and he doesn’t want to wake Franny. Seeing her would be an entanglement too far._

\---

_Sits in his hotel room. Not fancy, but not the kind of desperate dive he would have once booked himself into. Comfortable, clean, bright. Thinks. Broods. Time was, he’d pass an evening like this cleaning his weapons, checking his plans, looking through sights in the window, trained on his neighbours. Not tonight. Takes himself to bed early, lies back, closes his eyes, places his hand softly on his chest and counts his breaths._

\---

_He watches her from the car. Sees her kiss Franny, wave her off into school, turn and march down the street. Gets out of the car, follows her at a distance for a couple of blocks, sees her go into a coffee shop. He walks to the park across the street. Sits on a bench with a view of the coffee shop. She comes out, coffee in hand, and crosses the road towards him. A sudden, calm focus descends on him. She’s striding into the park staring down at her phone, reading a text that’s just come in, when he steps out in front of her, a few feet ahead. She glances up for a moment, goes to step round him, then looks up again. Her eyes lock on his. A guttural sound and she staggers – her knees give way and she stumbles backwards, drops her coffee on the path, takes several more steps back, away from him. Gasping, reeling, unable to speak._

_He gives her the smallest of smiles, but his eyes remain serious._

QUINN - Hi.

CARRIE - Quinn?

_It’s barely even a whisper. Her chin wobbles uncontrollably, she can hardly stand_

_He nods._

QUINN - Yeah.

CARRIE - Wh...what....?

QUINN - I heard you were looking for me.

CARRIE - What? I…

_She’s backed away from him so far she’s almost leaning on a tree by the side of the path. Despite her suspicions, she was so unprepared for this, she cannot cope – not even physically, never mind emotionally. He’s so…. **real**._

QUINN - Wanna sit?

_She shakes her head. Anger, shock, fear, all at the forefront, the joy she should be feeling nowhere to be seen right now. Her head buzzing. She wants to run to him and grab hold of him, hold him tighter than she's ever held anything in her life, but she can't stop staring at him. Rooted to the spot. Stares for what feels like a very long time. He waits. Eventually..._

CARRIE - What… what… I … Jesus. You…

_He sits back on the bench. Feels unerringly calm._

QUINN - I’m alive.

_She stares at him. He waits for her to catch up._

CARRIE - No shit.

_He looks at the floor in front of him. Decides. He has to get this all out, before she regains her senses enough to start pummeling him with questions. It’s not graceful but it’s the only way he can do it._

QUINN - I survived New York. Dar got me out. Gave me a new life, told everyone I was dead.

I’ve been living in Philadelphia with my son and his mom. With Julia. We’re actually back together, expecting another baby. I’m finished with the CIA. With all of that.

_She reels again. He sits back. Amazed by how detached he suddenly feels from her._

I didn’t tell you because you would have dragged me back. Something would have. But I have a new life now. I’m done. So you can stop looking for me.

_She walks slowly to the bench, gazing at him in wonderment. Reaches a hand out and places it on his leg as she sits. Feels his warmth through the fabric. Stares at him more._

CARRIE - I thought you were dead. I fucking mourned you… til I fell apart. I was in the hospital, I nearly lost it for good. Could you not have told me?

QUINN - D’you think I could have stayed away if you’d called me from the psych ward?

_He has a point._

CARRIE - But just… a word? Anything?

QUINN - Do you think  _you_  could have stayed away if you’d known I was alive?

_Another good point._

CARRIE - And you didn’t wanna see me?

_The part of him that feels for her, that wants to soften her pain, is deep within him. Sincere. Powerful. But controlled. Outweighed by the greater mass of who he is now. Julia was right. The gravity that pulls him back towards his family is stronger than any she can exert on him._

QUINN - I nearly died in the CIA. So many times. Most of them working with you. And I still couldn’t quit. Do you even know how many times you pulled me back in? Could you even count them?

I’m happy Carrie. It’s unfuckingbelievable how happy I am.

_It's like seeing three different men, seamlessly combined. Pre-stroke Quinn - calm, smart, and in control - is back. Post-stroke Quinn - speech soft, slow, careful, his left hand motionless in his lap. And a new man - a new Quinn - with all the darkness rinsed out and replaced by light._

I’m sorry I had to hurt you to get here.

CARRIE - I don’t know what to say.

_They look each other right in the eye._

Can I… can I just hold you?

_A beat._

_He reaches up and wraps his arm round her, she leans in and clings onto him. Fingers in his hair, breathes him in. Cannot believe she is holding him again, wants to stay here forever. In time, he sits up, extricates himself gently from her._

CARRIE - Fuck.

_Tears brim over her cheeks._

You’re really happy?

QUINN - Turns out being normal is amazing. I take my son to school. Buy groceries. Pick up his toys. Constantly. It's fucking incredible.

I even found my mom.

CARRIE - Shit. Really? That’s… that’s wonderful. She's...?

QUINN - Normal. Unbelievable.

_It starts to sink in. He really is in a good place. Without her. She can’t stop the tears, but talks through them._

CARRIE - I’m… I’m glad. You deserve it.

_He nods._

QUINN - Yeah. I think I do. It’s definitely my turn.

CARRIE - It is.

_They sit a while. Both thinking._

QUINN - Did you feel guilty?

_She's floored._

CARRIE - _Did_ I?

QUINN - Do you... whatever. About my stroke. Waking me up.

CARRIE - Are fucking kidding me? Yes. Every single day since it happened. Even more since you died. Since I _thought_ you died. Felt like I started the slippery slope that led you there.

But you have to know, that's NOT why I cared for you. I know you think it is, but I swear, it's not. I looked after you because I loved you. I love you.

_Those words come so fucking easily now. How is that? All those years she should have said them and never did. What was so fucking hard? Then after he died, day after day wishing to God she'd said it while she'd had the chance. Telling his memory, again and again and again._

_She's not going to miss the chance now. The words practically fly out of her. And he takes them placidly._

CARRIE - But yes. I felt very guilty. _Feel_ very guilty. I shouldn't have woken you up.

QUINN - Well I wanted to tell you. You don't have to.

_She looks questioningly._

Don't feel guilty. You can stop. It was hell, but the life it gave me... is better than any life I've ever had before. It broke me but I came back better. Everything came back better. Eventually.

_His words should be a release. A freedom. But they’re crippling. The guilt was sickening but it was a connection. Linked the two of them, albeit in a terrible way. She felt guilty because she, of all people, should have done better by him. Because she was special to him. But now he's telling her it doesn't matter. Even the biggest, the worst thing she ever did, is irrelevant to him now, because his new life is so much better than anything they had together. He’s over it. She is stunned. Eviscerated. But she has no time to linger in that pain -  
_

QUINN - And thank you.

CARRIE - What?

QUINN - For looking after me. In the hospital. I know I was hard to be around.

CARRIE - You weren't. Not really. Not considering what you'd been through.

QUINN - But I was grateful. If you hadn't been there... I don't think I would have made it. I only kept going for you.

_His admission moves her deeply. But once more, his words feel like a wiping clean of the scoresheet. Clearing up unfinished business so he can walk away, and never look back.  
_

QUINN -  I wanted to ask you...

_He tails off. He’s not even sure how. Not sure what his question is. But the blanks in his life still bother him. That sense of other people knowing more about this part of him than he knows himself. Of **Carrie** knowing more. _

CARRIE - What is it?

QUINN - You know…

_He stops again. Thinks again. She waits._

When I saw Astrid, before... before she died. She said she'd been to see me in the hospital. And I didn't remember. Not exactly. Felt like I _knew_ I’d seen her some time. But I didn't remember properly. Wish I did.

_He tails off. Tries again._

It's weird. Not remembering. When I know you _do_.

_She looks at him thoughtfully._

CARRIE - What _do_ you remember? When does it start?

QUINN - I dunno. Was like… someone turning up a dimmer switch. Not suddenly lights on.

I definitely remember you feeding me fucking apple sauce. Not being able to eat it cause my mouth wouldn't move right. Fucking rage I felt, you wiping my chin, that's the first thing I know for sure.

CARRIE - Yeah. Well, you’ll be glad to know I never did get that apple sauce out of my blouse. You did a good job. But I was kind of pleased that the shitty Quinn I knew and loved was still there, still capable of kicking the furniture over when he wanted to.

_They both smile. Small, sad smiles._

CARRIE - I'm sorry. I should have let the nurses do it. You didn't need me getting quite so into every damn struggle you had going on.

_He shrugs._

QUINN - You were trying to help. Were you there before that?

CARRIE - Yeah. By your bed. Whole time.

QUINN - What was it like?

_She sighs. How to put it into words?_

CARRIE - For a long time, it was just waiting. Interminably. Wanting so badly for you to wake up, but also… not wanting it. If you were gonna wake up and not be able to do anything… not walk or talk, do anything for yourself, maybe it was better you just... didn't. Even though that was unthinkable too.

When you first opened your eyes, I used to get on the bed beside you, hold you, stroke your hair. Do you remember that?

_He thinks. Dredging thoughts up from deep, deep down._

QUINN - Yeah, actually. I do. I never knew if it was real or if I dreamt it.

CARRIE - It was real.

You were so fucking sick. Still emerging from the coma. So slowly. You'd sit there in bed, staring straight ahead, barely able to move. I'd pull you across to me, stiff as a board, try and rest your head against me the best I could. Pretty sure you didn't know I was there. But then your breathing would slow down, your shoulders would relax a little.

One day when I was on the bed with you, you curled two of your fingers round mine when I held your hand, and I thought "Maybe he knows who I am."

_He thinks, brow furrowed._

QUINN - I knew. Even when I couldn't move, couldn’t say anything. It’s like... with Astrid. I knew I’d seen her, I could _feel_ it. But I didn’t remember her arriving, what she said, what she did. Same with you holding me. Had no fucking idea what was happening to me. But I felt you. Waited for it. Each time you did it, it was… like I knew someone was taking care of everything. I just had to hang on. Don’t remember each time you did it, but I felt it. Remember that feeling.

_She feels like she's been given a gift. The fact that he remembers, that she had reached him through the damage and distance, and comforted him.  
_

CARRIE – You know, that time was awful. But I’m so glad we had it.

_She thinks._

It’s pretty fucked up, isn’t it, that that’s the closest we ever were?

QUINN - No. No, Carrie. It’s not. You cared for me, when I really needed it.

Thank you.

_He feels… he doesn’t even know. It’s gonna take a while to think about. Doesn't want to remember those vulnerable days; to contemplate the life he could have faced, helpless and dependent, if his brain hadn't healed as it did._

_But somewhere in the back of his mind, the image of himself being held, cradled, recalls Helen's memory of holding him as a newborn. Being loved, being cared for at times when he was not capable of caring for himself. And it moves him in the same way, to think of those arms wrapped around him when he was so in need. But as with Helen's memories, it is something from the past.  
_

_But there's one more thing. One last item on the carousel of 'things I never said to Carrie', that's circled in his mind occasionally these past months._

QUINN - You read my letter.

_She's wide eyed. She knows exactly what he means, and is stunned._

QUINN - From Syria. I found it. In the house. By your bed.

_She exhales. Never leave a spy alone in your house and expect to keep a secret._

CARRIE - Oh.

Yes.

I did. Dar gave it to me. In Berlin. When we thought you wouldn't make it.

QUINN - You never said.

_She thinks. A long time._

CARRIE - No. You were so vulnerable. I couldn't. You weren't ready for that. For that... conversation, even.

QUINN - We were never ready for it. Both of us. Not at the same time.

_She smiles, but tears brim over again. She looks away. Moments pass. She wipes her face. Looks back at him._

CARRIE - It was such a beautiful letter.

_She places her hand gently on his, the warmth of his hand still somehow surprising. Then freezes, mortified, as she realises it's his left hand. He can't move away from her if he doesn't want her touch, can't reciprocate if he does. But before she has a chance to pull away in embarrassment, he reaches across with his right hand, places it on top of hers. Keeps it there.  
_

_They sit. Looking out at the park. Hands together. Time passes. Then he strokes her fingers once with his fingertips, squeezes her hand, and lifts his right hand away. She lifts hers too._

_A mom walks past, hand in hand with a little girl, heading towards school. Carrie wonders if she’ll ever tell Franny about today. Can’t think how. Maybe. One day. A thought occurs.  
_

CARRIE - Can I… can I stay in touch?

_He doesn't look at her._

QUINN - Max knows how to get hold of me. If you need to.

_She takes this on. She’s not going to be visiting him in Philadelphia. But she has to accept it. Jesus, he’s suddenly good at setting healthy boundaries as well as everything else?_

CARRIE - OK. 

_Nods, as if trying to convince herself that's the right answer._

OK. Sure.

I’m glad. Just glad… I mean… things are going so well for you. I’m glad.

_She laughs, pointing at her tear-stained face -_

Even though I don’t look it.

QUINN - Yeah.

_She exhales. She’s exhausted._

QUINN - Franny OK?

CARRIE - She’s… yeah, she’s great. Eight now. And... John, is it?

QUINN - Johnny. _(He grins from ear to ear)_ He's... Fuck. He's incredible. He's changed me. It's like... I'm turning into the guy I could have been, if I'd had his childhood. I don't understand how, but... bikes and bedtime stories and... all that. It sinks in.

CARRIE - That's great.

_She steels herself, fights another welling up of tears as she asks –_

And… you’re having another, did you say?

QUINN - Little girl. Due in six weeks.

CARRIE - Wow.

_That almost fells her, but she holds it together._

QUINN - I don’t think Johnny knows what’s gonna hit him.

_He smiles._

Or me, come to that.

CARRIE - You’ll be great. It’s... quite an experience.

QUINN - Yeah. I missed out last time. Can’t wait.

_A pause. He suddenly feels an intense need to see his son. To walk in the door to Julia, smile on his face, knowing this conversation is behind him. Done. Draw the blinds, order pizza, stick on a movie and curl up on the sofa with his family.  
_

I should go.

_He stands, she stands too. She digs deep._

CARRIE - Thank you for coming.

_He nods._

QUINN - I'm sorry I hurt you.

_She can't quite believe this conversation is going to finish with **him** saying sorry to **her**._

CARRIE - Don't say that. You have nothing to apologise for.

_They look at each other._

QUINN - Take care of yourself, OK?

CARRIE - And you.

QUINN - I will. Bye, Carrie.

_He leans in, kisses her on the cheek, then turns, and walks away._


	4. Chapter 4

_He knows her eyes are on his back as he walks away. Turns out of the park onto the street and leaves her sight, exhales a little, feels his shoulders drop and relax. Then remembers what Carrie said – that’s what he did when she held him in the hospital. Feels unexpectedly warm at the thought. He’d come prepared for battle, and she’d given him… peace. And the realisation that they’d always be connected, whatever his future held. They’d shared too much for it to be simply voided by the arrival of a new set of circumstances._

_Reaches the car. Gets in, sits and closes the door behind him. Shuts his eyes for a moment. Opens them. Pulls out his phone. Texts Julia._

It’s done. I’m coming home. I love you.

_She comes straight back._

I love you too. Are you OK?

I think so.

_He wonders about picking up, calling her. Knows she’ll be thinking the same but will let him take the lead. Thinks he needs more time to let this settle. He texts again._

Looking forward to seeing you. I missed you.

I missed you too. I’m proud of you. Drive safe x 

_Stares at his phone. Carrie’s number’s in there. Always has been. Fingers hover over the keys. Types._

Thank you.

_Thumb rests gently on the send key. Stares out the windscreen. Down at the phone._

\---

_She watches him walk away. Takes several deep breaths, releasing the last as he disappears from view._

_Suddenly hears the birds singing. Had never noticed before how many of them there are in the park. She’s always rushing through it, staring at her phone, aware of the time, planning her day._

_Rubs her hand gently – she can still feel his touch._

_Feels the corners of her mouth lift. Can’t quite believe it. She should be feeling wretched. But something has dropped into place inside of her. A hole has been filled. He didn’t die full of self-loathing. He wasn’t beaten by the CIA. Or by his past. Or by their total fucking inability to get it together. He’s happy; he’s grateful that she helped him; his life is still ticking away, full of joy and promise.  
_

_Her phone beeps. She looks at it. A number she doesn’t know, but she knows who it’s from. Her smiles widens, almost to her ears. Wonders whether to reply. What to say._

_Is it a final message of closure? Nope. He wouldn’t have given her his number if that was the case. It’s a touch – like the touch of their hands. Not a road back to where they were, but a connection.  
_

Thank you too.

_Sends._

_She gets up from the bench, and strolls slowly towards work, sun on her back, birdsong in her ears._


End file.
